Chapter 2: The Interview

"Wake up" a muffled male voice prodded Basta's consciousness. "Wake up!" He felt a slap on his cheek and a nudge in his ribs. He groaned, wondering if it were Capricorn's voice he was hearing. Was he back on the cold stone floor of his master's bedroom? He groaned again, and slowly opened his eyes. He found himself squinting against the light of an unfamiliar room. A blurry face slowly came into focus. Basta groaned again, and lolled his head from side to side. The face that glared at him from a higher vantage became clear, and Basta realised that it was not Capricorn glaring at him, but a complete stranger. The man that glared was dressed in a dark green/grey uniform. He had golden coloured hair, combed back neatly.

"Who are you?" asked Basta, his voice low and confused. The man standing across from him acknowledged someone else- another man in the same uniform. Basta sighed ruefully and attempted to mentally piece together the peculiar situation he found himself in. The two men murmured amongst themselves.

"Britisch! Er ist Britisch!"

"Huh?" Basta's eyes widened in confusion, and he quickly realised that his arms and shoulders were very sore. He made an attempt to rub his left bicep, only to find that his hands were shackled behind his back, to the back of the chair he sat in. His heart pounded in alarm, and he searched the faces of the three uniformed men in desperation. "Where am I? Who are you?" he jerked his shoulders and swivelled his head from side to side, anxiously taking in his surroundings; an unfurnished room, lit by harsher overhead lights. Sweat ran down the young man's face and neck, and a warm moistness accumulated in his palms. It frightened him that he couldn't understand the words that the man with the golden hair was saying.

"Deutsch?" asked the golden haired man. Basta's eyes widened like saucers. "Ich annehem nicht" muttered the golden haired man to the accomplice to his right. Basta felt bile rise into his throat. His stomach clenched and he felt absolutely trapped... heart racing, he cast the golden haired man a pleading look. "Ok, so you don't speak German" said the man, sounding bored and irritated. Basta had to struggle to understand the words he said- his voice was thickly obscured with an accent Basta later learned was German.

"No I don't" said Basta, not understanding what German meant anyways. His eyebrows knit together in a frown. His pulse throbbed in his temple and sweat continued to drip down the collar of his shirt, cooling his smooth, heaving chest. "Where am I?" He felt slightly relieved that he could speak with the men, without the use of the strange words he did not understand. Britisch, Deutsch, annehem... the guttural sounds were confusing and caused Basta's head to ache.

"Who did the British send you to spy on?" Demanded the blonde, his grey eyes fierce.

"Err-?" Basta frowned even harder, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. "I don't understand!" he squirmed under the man's critical stare. The man said something to the man to his left, who nodded, saluted, and strode out of the small room. Basta's eyes continued to widen, and his heart didn't cease to pound crazily.

"Who were you sent to spy on?" The man demanded a second time, and when Basta failed to provide an answer, a gloved hand struck him across the face. The young man gaped in horror. His cheek stung, and for a still moment his eyes locked with the cold greyness of the other man's. The man who had slapped him- the gold haired fellow- had a broad face and a long, crooked nose. His lips were thin and curled in a despisal twist.

"I'm not a spy!" Spat Basta, contorting his face angrily. The other man, the one with black hair, murmured something to his accomplice.

"Wie heißt sie?"

"Ah. Yes. What is your name?" Asked the gold haired man, seemingly out of place suddenly. Basta figured he didn't interrogate strangers often.

"My name is Basta." He frowned once again, though his heart rate began to slow, and the sweat didn't roll off his skin anymore. He just suddenly felt incredibly irritated and prayed for the mobility of his arms. He did not appreciate the shackles...

"What an odd name, this Basta..." The gold haired man narrowed his eyes. "Now I'll ask you again: who were you sent to spy on?"

Basta let out a roar of frustration.

"I AM NOT A SPY!" his voice quivered with rage, and he felt his face heating up. Suddenly, the man balled up a fist and punched Basta square in the nose. Basta cried out in pain as his head flew back. The chair rocked on its back legs, and blood flowed from his nose. "What the fuck was that for!" he cried angrily, jerking on the shackles.

"Tell me who you're spying on! What are the ally scum plotting?" When Basta just stared stupidly in his direction, silently fuming, the man took another blow, punching him in the nose a second time.

"ahh FUCK!" Basta screamed angrily as blood flowed from his nose and into his mouth, staining his teeth and filling his mouth with a heavy metallic taste.

"TELL ME WHAT YOU'RE PLANNING!" The man had completely lost his temper. The veins in his forehead became very pronounced, and his hands balled into fists. Flecks of spittle landed on Basta's face, and he found himself ready for the next blow. Just as the man was about to take a third swing, the door to the small room swung open and two men walked in. The angry man quickly clapped his heels together and flung a hand to his forehead in an animated salute. Basta groaned deep in his throat and turned his head towards the doorway, to see who had arrived. Another man, dressed in the same shade of green, came into the room with one of the accomplices by his side. He wore a black brimmed hat, unlike any hat Basta had ever seen before. What strange people he remarked, squinting his eyes and angrily chewing on his chapped bottom lip. The man that walked in had a fancier uniform than the other men. His had badges and decorations pinned to his chest, and a thick black cross hanging from his collar.

"Now now, Lieutenant, that is no way to treat our guest" purred the decorated man. He too spoke with that peculiar accent. The blonde lowered his head and murmured something in German. Basta glared at the newcomer. "I'll take it from here" said the new man, smiling. He approached a glowering Basta, and stopped in front of him, rubbing his hands together vigorously. "Allow me to introduce myself; my name is Colonel Hand Landa, of the SS. "I apologize for the lieutenant's actions. Shall we take this conversation to my office?" Basta just glared up at the man's face. Colonel Hans Landa bore a handsome smile, and his dark blue eyes glinted mischievously from under the brim of his fancy hat. Basta exhaled, and nodded while tugging on the shackles again. "Ah, yes, of course." Colonel Lana smiled and acknowledged the shackles. "Lieutenant?" The blond fellow grumbled as he went behind Basta, freeing the shackles from the chair. Basta stood, under the critical gaze of the Colonel, and allowed the Blonde man to take hold of the shackles and nudge him towards the door. As he walked, Basta took in every detail of the strange room. Everything was so different; he couldn't possibly fathom what was happening. Hans Landa was talking, speaking in a placid tone and he seemed to be in an extremely good mood. Basta didn't acknowledge his presence; he merely looked around the building he was being pushed through. Everything was so different. The room they passed through was a fine lobby, with polished stone floors and walls painted a light shade of cream. A dark reception desk stood under a bright wall light. Basta gaped at the lighting fixture. Light without a flame! How is this possible? Landa walked briskly over the polished floor, then turned to his left, up a fine staircase. Basta was nudged along, though he didn't need much encouragement. He walked as if in trance, awed by the fine polished furniture and modern decor. Where am I? Basta was utterly baffled. Landa jogged up the staircase with a great deal of energy. Basta noted, when Landa finished his climb up the stairs, that the German Colonel wore boots very similar to his own. Mid- calf length riding type boots. Though Landa's were incredibly shiny, and sported shiny silver hardware for buckles. Basta's boots were much rattier, and lacked the shine and stiffness that Landa's had.

The upper level of the building had a long hallway, with a number of polished oak doors on either side. The Colonel walked briskly to a door close to the end of the hall.

"Come in" he said with a smile, holding the door open for Basta. The young man grunted as he passed the green-glad man. The blond fellow nudged him towards another chair, instructed him to sit down. With a groan, Basta quickly wiped the drying blood off his upper lip with his shoulder before allowing the man to shackle him to the chair. He sighed, and tilted his head back. "Danke, Leutnant." Landa smiled, with closed lips, and closed the door shut behind the other man's back. Basta heard a click as the smiling Colonel locked the door. "Now, where were we" said Landa, his voice casual and happy. Basta found himself scowling as the older man approached. Basta lifted his chin, turning his head in Landa's direction. He noted that the Colonel, though not very tall, stood a good three inches taller than Basta himself. Basta figured he must have been close to 5'8 or 5'9. This irritated the young man. Landa hummed an unfamiliar tune for several moments before resuming his speech. "Ah, yes. We were just getting to know each other." Landa removed his hat, revealing a full head of light brown hair. The only sign of age was slight greying near the colonel's temples. He must have been between 47 and 52. He placed the hat gingerly on a clean oak desk, then took a seat before Basta. "What is your name?" Now that the hat was gone, Basta could fully see Landa's face. The man had a stubborn, masculine chin, with a slight dent in the middle. His eyes were intense and dark, fixed intently on Basta's face.

"My name is Basta."

"That's it? No surname?"

"Err, no..." Basta frowned. His head ached and pounded and he wished the nightmare would end. Surly that's all this is... just a nightmare. A terrible nightmare. And in no time I'll wake up in Ombra, in my own bed, and I'll never have to see these strangely dressed men ever again.

"Look, Basta, we can make this an easy experience, or a hard experience. If you oblige to my questions, and answer honestly, your participation will be rewarded." Landa raised his eyebrows, and flashed Basta a crooked smile. Basta found himself shivering. "Now, we are already aware that you are working for the British-"

"Who?"

"Don't play stupid with me, you know very well who I'm talking about." Colonel Landa frowned and twisted his full, boyish lips into a scowl.

"No, sir, I don't." Basta's doe eyes widened under Landa's intense stare. "And what makes you think I'm one of them?" His head was aching again, and he wished for a glass of water. Landa continued to stare, then quickly scribbled something onto the clipboard he had sitting on his lap.

"So you're completely unaware of the very accent you speak with, Basta?" Landa narrowed his eyes in scrutiny. Basta, exasperated, howled in misery and threw his head back. To his utter embarrassment, hot tears welled in his eyes and poured out of the corners and down his temples, leaking into his already damp hair. The taste of blood remained in his mouth, and his entire body ached. More tears. Flowing now in thin salty rivers over the smoothness of his face. Landa didn't utter a word.

"Where the fuck am I?" He sobbed, his voice changed into that of a desperate man's. Tears caused his eyelashes to clump together, cold and wet. His chest shook and heaved, and he continued to draw blood from his palms. When he finally composed himself enough to raise his head, and when the tears dried to salty tracks on his face, he stared into his lap, wishing he could disappear into the black fabric. Colonel Landa was writing.

"It would appear that you have struck your head" muttered Landa, glancing up from his paper. "We'll have a doctor come tend to you." Landa cast Basta a lingering, scrutinizing look before turning to a small black device on the table; a device that Basta would later recognize as a telephone. He watched in mild fascination as Landa spun the dial a number of times, and spoke into the receiver. He spoke in fluent German, for a few moments, before hanging up and returning his attention back to Basta. "A doctor will be in to see you shortly. In the mean time, it is my duty as a Colonel of the SS, to keep you under close surveillance, as you are a suspect." Landa spoke easily, his words coming out silkily and calmly. He licked the end of the pen before using it to write again.

"I'm sorry sir" Basta was startled by his own voice. It was husky and sore, ad if he had been swallowing razors. "I am extremely confused. All I remember is waking up on some man's floor, then waking up again that room downstairs. I don't know where I am, or who you are... I'm just very confused and I want to go home." Landa considered this, closing his mouth and studying Basta with unblinking eyes. When he spoke, his voice was lower, more thoughtful.

"Where do you live?"

"In Capricorn's fortress, outside the city of Ombra." Surely this man has a map thought Basta desperately, forcing himself to keep from losing his sanity. Landa continued to stare before writing something down on the paper again. Basta huffed a sigh. "Do you have a map?" He asked, frowning desperately. "I can show you exactly where it is."

Landa's eyebrows raised. He got to his feet, carefully placing the clipboard and pen on the desk, next to his hat. He paced over to a table in the corner of the room, and brought over three different large sheets of paper, each rolled into scrolls. He unrolled one, and spread it out on the desk. Wordlessly, the Colonel walked over to Basta, releasing him from the chair. Basta hastily approached the desk, and bent over the map. Landa stood by his side, peering at the map as well. Basta's heart thumped as his eyes searched the fancy parchment. An unfamiliar shape presented itself in front of him. At the top of the page, written in nice cursive, was one word: La France.

"I don't know this" said Basta, dumbfounded. "This isn't familiar." His eyes scanned the map of the country, over strange names he'd never heard of before: Normande, Paris, Cannes, Le Havre... "I don't know this."

"How about this one?" Purred Landa, spreading out a second map. At the top of this map the word England was written. Again, nothing familiar.

"No, no, no, no!" Basta felt anxiety rush over him. Wordlessly, Landa spread out the last scroll: Die Welt (The world). "What is this?" Cried Basta, staring at the unfamiliar collection of shapes on the map. Landa gawked at the side of his head, disbelievingly. "I don't see Ombra on here"

"Is Ombra a base in England?" tried Landa, prodding his finger over an island on the map.

"No, no, Ombra is a City" growled Basta in annoyance. I thought this man was intelligent! But he's never even heard of the largest city in the country? Then it slowly started to occur to Basta...

These were two completely different worlds.

Landa sighed in frustration.

"I think it be best if we wait for the doctor..." he rubbed an eyebrow with his index finger. Basta noted that Landa's hands were large and calloused. Basta himself had smaller, softer hands. He had narrow wrists and slighter fingers, whereas Landa had sinuous wrists and hands. "In the mean time, I'll show you to your cell." My cell? Basta's mind spun. I don't want to sleep in a cell! But at that moment, he was too tired to protest. He felt like too much of an idiot to say anything, really. So he just bowed his head and allowed Landa to prod him out of the office, back down the staircase, and down a secondary hallway, back towards the interrogation room. But instead of turning into the familiar door, they continued down a minor hallway. Basta sighed as they pushed through a number of doors and hallways before they reached a small cell. Basta wasn't sure what sort of building he was in, one with a lobby, and office, and a cell, but he didn't bother asking. Colonel Landa looked preoccupied and dazed as he unshackled Basta's hands, and closed the barred door shut. Basta watched through the jail-cell as Landa said Adieu! And strode away. Alone with the silence, Basta sat on the cot at the far end of the cell, and sat on the mattress, which was surprisingly soft and much better than the bed he slept at in Ombra. Surprised, Basta knelt next to the cot, prodding the material of the mattress. It wasn't made out of straw!

"Amazing..." Basta murmured to himself before collapsing on the soft bed. He sighed, closed his eyes, and let his head spin.

A/N:

Ohhhh my god! This story is so hard to write! D: Waa! I'm having such a hard time with this! I've never written a cross-over before, and I'm having a really hard time making this chapter convincing. I would really appreciate some supportive reviews! (Thank you "Basta's Girl" For being the first person to review this story). Please be proud of me for updating so fast! ... pwetty pwease?